The 6 Types Of People I Hate In New York City
1. The people who “don’t go to Brooklyn”
The fact that there’s still any snobbery towards Brooklyn blows my mind. It’s 2012, people! Get it together! Anyone who says to me, “I don’t DO Brooklyn” deserves to be banished to Staten Island forever. Tell me, if you don’t “do” Brooklyn, what do you do? The Highline? The Whole Foods in Union Square? Because the last time I checked, Brooklyn wasn’t some poor, neglected SCARY place. I can understand when people visit New York for the first time and are like, “Oh, Brooklyn? What’s that like?” But if you live here, you have no excuse to be ignorant. Furthermore, you’re making yourself look like some stuck up diva who wouldn’t know fun if it bit them on their trust fund! Go ahead honey, go to Lit Lounge for the 5,000th time. I’ll be over here hanging out in some terrifying underdeveloped borough. SOS! I’m off the Lorimer stop, y’all!
2. Aggressive networkers
I know a lot of people move to New York City for the career opportunities but can we all just take our ambition down a notch? I don’t like it when, within five minutes of meeting me, you’re telling me that we should “work on something together.” Um, work on what? We should work on learning each other’s names before we take a dip in the professional pool together, don’t you think? This eagerness to make connections is transparent and unattractive. And for the love of God, put your business card away! It’s like you’re waving your dick at me and want me to hold it.
3. Fashion people
While there are exceptions, I find the majority of people who work in fashion to be humorless nightmares. Their egos are the size of Kirstie Alley’s waist on a cheat day and they’re somehow under the impression that they OWN New York City. If you’re not associated with the fashion world, you don’t exist in their eyes. Ugh, and they act as if they’re solving world hunger when really they’re just putting expensive clothes on some starving 14-year-old girl from Norway and making her wobble down a runway. OMG, speaking of which, the models! They’re hilarious! They usually travel in packs because they were all basically kidnapped in the middle of the night from their home country and have such a tenuous grasp on the English language. FYI, if you see a group of malnourished 13-year-old girls with braces, chances are they’re high-fashion models—not middle-schoolers.
4. The girls who pretend to be Carrie Bradshaw
You see them out and about in their impractical footwear, holding their fancy cocktails, walking down the cobblestones in the Meatpacking District or haunting Murray Hill like a gaggle of lipstick-smeared ghosts. Welcome back to 2004, y’all! These are the girls who devoured Sex and the City growing up in places like Idaho and promised themselves that the second they had a chance to leave, they would move to The City to have sexy brunch with their sexy girlfriends. They typically go into fashion PR to be close to the GLAMOUR, but instead of repping Marc Jacobs, they end up working with a luxury yoga clothing brand. Oh well! At least they still get to go on a lot of dates. Carrie Bradshaw would be HORRIFIED if she knew the legacy she left behind.
5. People who won’t stop complaining about New York City
I, of all people, know what it’s like to hate New York. During the first three years of living here, I felt nothing but ambivalence for the city. “OMG, I hate it. OMG, wait, I miss it. OMG, no, I still hate it.” While I still experience rollercoaster emotions, things have mellowed out considerably. I accept the city for what it is and forget what it’s not. There’s no point in disliking New York. Rent is too damn expensive to be perpetually on-the-fence about it. Either love it or get out. Someone will gladly take your apartment, job, and significant other when you leave.
6. Hot people
Seriously everyone, stop being so hot. You’re making my stock plummet. I think I’m cute until I see three people in five minutes who look exactly like me but just a little bit cuter. Not fair. I want to feed you all a cheeseburger and give you a zit, so we can all be on the same level.
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It started with a right swipe, a little green heart. Tinder of course.
Though I acknowledge and appreciate the differences in human experiences, and while your heartbreak is (and always will be) uniquely and completely your own, I must urge you to consider that I have been where you are.
With his hat cocked back, body tilted away from his cane, and right forefinger pointing directly at his audience, Joseph Ducreux commands the attention of those viewing his self-portrait.
I was born in 1990; he was born in 1973. I’m 23; he just turned 40.